


The Old College Try

by LittlebutFiery



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: College, F/M, Who needs AUs when you can go under cover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-18 18:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4715984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlebutFiery/pseuds/LittlebutFiery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to stop an American arms dealer, Gaby, Illya, and Napoleon have to go undercover as two college students and a professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer Assignments

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by and written for two friends of mine.

It had been a long, miserable mission in Johannesburg – Napoleon, Illya, and Gaby were all exhausted. Somehow Illya had managed to doze off while standing to pour himself a drink, and from the slow but steady droop of Napoleon’s head Gaby could tell he was about to fall asleep too.

“You two look awful,” Gaby teased, although she was the first to admit she had looked and felt better herself. “At least now we can get some rest.”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Teller, you’re mistaken,” the familiar lilt of Waverly’s voice entered the room before he did. “I have another assignment for you.”

Napoleon let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Can we at least have a week?”

“Not unless you want the criminal organization the Vinciguerras worked for to get their hands on a very large number of high-tech American weapons,” Waverly replied. Illya had woken during Napoleon’s question and at Waverly’s statement groaned, “It’s always the Americans.”

“Illya was stabbed on this assignment. Do you really think it’s fair to give him another one before he’s even seen a doctor?” Gaby demanded of Waverly.

“Funny you should say that, Ms. Teller. Kuryakin won’t be joining you on this assignment,” Waverly replied simply. 

“What?” Illya demanded.

“Solo, Ms. Teller, you will be going undercover at an American university. Solo, you will be a new professor of art history, and Ms. Teller, you will be a student. Your target is one Andrew McAllister, the son of Timothy McAllister, an American arms manufacturer. We have reason to believe that the elder McAllister is planning to sell weapons to an international criminal organization, and getting close to his son will be the easiest way to get to him,” Waverly explained, ignoring Illya. “Solo, the laboratory at this college has been full of suspicious activity, and we believe they may be helping McAllister create some kind of super-weapon – as a teacher, you have access to the lab, and so you will investigate that. Ms. Teller, as a student you will have much more access to Andrew McAllister, and so you will involve yourself with him and get as much information as you can from him.”

“Hold one moment,” Illya scowled. “Gaby is…a honeypot?”

“Essentially…yes,” Waverly admitted.

“No,” Illya snapped right back. “No, I will not allow that.”

“You’re not my mother, Illya,” Gaby cut in. She turned to Waverly. “What’s this ‘honeypot’ thing that’s got Illya so angry?”

Waverly pointedly didn’t answer, so Napoleon sighed and explained, “An agent – usually a woman – who gets information from a target by – ”

He paused, trying to find a polite way to explain it, when Illya said darkly, “By seducing them.”

Gaby recoiled in surprise. “I’m going to _what?_ ”

“You don’t _actually_ have to seduce your target, Ms. Teller,” Waverly brushed her off. “He’s a young playboy. Make him think you’re interested and it should take care of itself from there.”

“I am going on mission as well,” Illya insisted.

“Kuryakin, not only are you injured, but you don’t seem like the college type to me,” Waverly raised an eyebrow skeptically.

“I could be professor,” Illya suggested.

“You look too young to be a professor and too old to be a student,” Napoleon shook his head. “Sorry, Peril. Besides, Russian isn’t the most popular subject in schools these days.”

Illya glowered at Napoleon for taking Waverly’s side, hands shaking a little. When it became apparent the stare-down was going nowhere and neither man was going to back down, Gaby scowled and huffed, “He could be an exchange student.”

“Gaby, I _just_ said he looks too old to be a student,” Napoleon frowned.

“A regular student, yes. But I am a student from East Germany who escaped the Iron Curtain. Is it so hard to imagine I had a Russian cousin who couldn’t escape until he was older, but still wants a good education?” Gaby countered.

The look Illya gave her would have killed a lesser woman. “Your _cousin?_ ”

“Do you want to be on this assignment or not?” Gaby snapped back. Illya backed down, although he still looked annoyed.

Waverly sighed. “If you’re so determined, Kuryakin, you can join them. But you will be, as Ms. Teller said, under cover as her cousin, recently defected from Russia. And you _won’t_ let your feelings for Ms. Teller interfere with this assignment.”

“What feelings?” Illya tried to protest, but he received three identically unamused expressions in return. He grumbled reluctantly, “Yes, of course. Only there for support.”

“Well, now that that’s all cleared up, you should pack. Your flight leaves in three hours,” Waverly said, nodding in farewell and leaving the room. “I’ll have more detailed cover identities and your passports in the car.”

As they packed, both Gaby and Illya couldn’t help but notice the unrestrained smile on Napoleon’s face. Illya commented, “You look happy, Cowboy.”

“I get to go home sweet home,” Napoleon replied. He gave them both a big grin. “And I can’t wait to read all the homework I’m going to assign you two.”


	2. Culture Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting to a mission in America is a little bit harder than Illya anticipated.

It was a long plane ride from Johannesburg to Texas, the location of their new mission. The seemingly endless flights with the three of them squashed in adjacent seats gave Illya far too much quality time with Napoleon and not nearly enough with Gaby – she was asleep for most of their flights, leaving Illya alone to try to keep Napoleon from flirting with the stewardesses. 

Illya never ceased to be amazed by how beautiful Gaby was, particularly when she was sleeping – even though she was currently snoring and drooling on Illya’s shoulder. He was going to take advantage of these precious few hours left on the plane as best he could, as he knew it would be days if not weeks before he would be allowed to look at Gaby like this again.

“Doing okay, Peril?” Napoleon asked, interrupting Illya’s pensive mood. The Soviet turned to glare at the man on his other side. “Is this your first time going to America?”

“Of course it is,” Illya scowled. “Our countries are not exactly friends, Cowboy.”

Napoleon laughed. “This’ll be a hell of an assignment.”

“No different than any other,” Illya brushed him off.

“I think you underestimate Texas, Peril. Hard to find a more patriotic state, and you’re going to be a Soviet standing right in the middle of it,” Napoleon smirked.

“I’ll be fine,” Illya huffed, turning back towards Gaby. He rested his head against Gaby’s and promptly fell asleep.

*

When they landed in Texas, Illya realized Napoleon was correct – not that he’d ever admit it. He’d barely made it off the plane and into the airport before the culture shock paralyzed him. Everywhere was full of bright advertisements, upbeat music, loud conversations, _people_ …

The sudden warmth of Gaby’s small hand in his snapped him back to reality. She smiled up at him and asked gently, “A little bit different than behind the Iron Curtain, isn’t it?”

“Everything is so bright. And so… _loud_ ,” Illya grumbled.

“Told you,” Napoleon teased good-naturedly. He saw how overwhelmed Illya was and added a little more kindly, “You’ll get the hang of it, Peril. C’mon, the CIA has a car for us out front. You’ll feel better once we get to our safe houses.”

“More CIA agents. Just what I wanted,” Illya sighed, but Gaby squeezed his hand and pulled him along after Napoleon.

“Believe me, I’m as happy about it as you are,” Napoleon replied, pushing open the doors to the airport and forcing a smile at the man leaning against the car right outside. “Sanders. Always a pleasure.”

“Save it, Solo,” Sanders scowled. “I don’t need any of your bullshit.”

“As good-humored as ever, I see,” Napoleon continued insincerely.

Sanders just glowered at him before knocking on the car window. It rolled down, revealing a skinny man in a suit sitting at the driver’s seat. Sanders introduced, “This is Agent Carson. He’ll be handling this mission for you.”

“This is an UNCLE mission,” Gaby protested.

“Waverly doesn’t know a damn thing about being an American. He’s letting the CIA run this show, and you’re gonna deal with it,” Sanders snapped.

When none of the three UNCLE agents said anything, the scrawny agent in the car broke the tense silence with, “Howdy, you three. Lookin’ forward to workin’ with y’all.”

Illya blinked and turned to Napoleon, mumbling, “What language is that?”

“English,” Napoleon replied in an equally low voice, puzzled.

“That is _not_ English,” Illya insisted. “Half of that wasn’t even words.”

“Welcome to the South, comrade,” Napoleon clapped Illya on the shoulder. He raised his voice so the others could hear and said to Agent Carson, “Well, we’ve got some studying up to do, literally. Mind taking us home?”

“Happy to,” Carson nodded. “Pile on in.”

It was an awkward car ride, to say the least, with Sanders slouched in the front seat, the three UNCLE agents crammed in the back in grumpy silence, and Carson jabbering on to prevent the car from falling into uncomfortable silence. They dropped Napoleon off at his chic little apartment first, making the rest of the ride somehow even more awkward – with their lone friendly contact in the CIA gone, Gaby and Illya felt more like prisoners than cooperating agents.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the car pulled up in front of a small apartment building. Carson turned around and said, “Well, this is your stop. Need help getting your stuff upstairs?”

“This building is a dump,” Illya scowled.

Gaby asked at the same time, “We’re staying together?”

“Yes, Kuryakin, it is a dump. You’re students from Eastern Europe, you wouldn’t be able to afford anything better. And yes, Ms. Teller, you’re staying together. You’re family, you’re far from home, and God help us if we had our Soviet friend here trying to survive in an American apartment by himself,” Sanders replied.

“Won’t that be a little suspicious to our target?” Gaby asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not if you don’t bring him home,” Illya grumbled. Gaby scowled up at him, about to snap at his pettiness, when Carson cleared his throat loudly.

“Let’s move you in, shall we?” the young agent persisted. “You’re going to want to get ready for classes, and all that.”

Illya sighed dramatically and got out of the car with Carson to grab their suitcases, leaving Gaby trailing behind and Sanders lounging in the car. Naturally, they were on the top floor of a building with a broken elevator; Illya was so annoyed by the time they reached the apartment his hands were trembling.

Carson noticed the Soviet’s agitation, said quickly, “Well, happy moving in, and have fun at school, I guess. An agent will be by tomorrow morning with your car and the keys for you,” and all but ran back downstairs. 

The apartment was tiny, filthy, and falling apart. It did at least have a television, which Illya idly watched as Gaby unpacked her clothes. Nothing seemed particularly interesting though – it was either the news or terrible American shows, leaving the Soviet cycling through the handful of channels over and over.

Gaby finally came out of her room and plopped down next to him on the couch. She noticed his listlessness and asked, “Everything okay, Illya?”

“I hate this stupid country,” Illya grumbled, ignoring the childishness of his own words. “Everything is so over the top and abrasive and…”

Gaby put a hand on his arm, offering him a little smile. “You’ll get used to it. It’s just so new and different.”

“I’ve never had problem with adjusting to other countries before,” Illya protested.

“Well, this is America. And Napoleon says everything is bigger in Texas, so I imagine the culture shock is too,” Gaby teased gently.

Illya said nothing, idly staring at the television. Gaby cuddled up closer to him and murmured in his ear, “It’s our last night alone together for a while, before we have to be cousins for the mission. I can think of some more engaging activities than American news, can’t you?" 

To her great relief, this drew a small smile out of him. He ruffled her hair and replied, “I think so, my little chop shop girl. But remember, we can’t destroy furniture this time. Or else we will have no furniture.”

Gaby said nothing, giving Illya a kiss and sauntering off to her room. He stayed on the couch a moment, trying to resist the temptation – he _had_ to prepare for tomorrow’s mission – before silently cursing the way Gaby had him wrapped around her finger and following her to her room.

*

The next morning, as Illya followed Gaby into his very first college class, he was starting to regret the complete lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Gaby looked tired as well, although still beautiful and radiant as always, but it was neither himself nor Gaby Illya was concerned about.

No, he was concerned about the stylish man at the front of the room writing ‘Professor James Napoleon’ on the chalkboard. As Illya sat down, Napoleon paused in his writing to give the man a devilish grin.

Illya was going to hate being in college, he knew it.


	3. East Meets West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby makes a friend on the first day of classes, and Illya isn't happy about it.

Gaby had to give it to Napoleon; he was a very charismatic teacher. All of the girls were hanging on to his every word and the boys sat up straighter, trying to look more like him. She would never tell him, of course, partly for fear of inflating his ego, and partly for fear of the fearsome glare Illya would give her.

Not that Illya looked too pleased regardless, glaring at Napoleon for the entire lecture, clearly still bitter he was relegated to being a student. Nevertheless, the Soviet was nothing if not a good spy, and dutifully took notes throughout the entire class. Gaby couldn’t help but notice that Illya’s handwriting was as careful and precise as basically everything else in his life.

He was a little too preoccupied with scowling at Napoleon, though, to notice the handsome young man a few rows behind them admiring Gaby. Waverly had neglected to find her a picture of Andrew McAllister, so Gaby had no idea if her admirer was her target. That didn’t stop her from being pleased at the attention – if she could catch someone’s eye so quickly, getting close to their target may not be so hard.

When Napoleon finally stopped talking and dismissed class, Gaby started to follow Illya to the next part of the day’s schedule. It had taken a lot of persuasion to convince Carson to create identical schedules for them, but Gaby had made him believe it would help sell their cover without having to admit she was concerned about Illya being by himself. For all his iron exterior and bluster, he had absolutely no idea what he was doing in America, and Gaby cringed to think what might happen if she or Napoleon wasn’t with him all the time.

The pair had barely made it out of the room and into the hallway before a voice called, “Wait! Excuse me!”

The student who had had his eye on Gaby was trotting after them. Gaby stopped and turned to face him; Illya followed suit, looking even grumpier than he had before.

“Oh, hello,” Gaby smiled winningly at him.

“Are you a new student? I don’t remember seeing you before,” the student asked. He stopped, shook his head, smiled, and said, “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Gaby promised, smiling again and tucking her hair behind her ear and hoping that her usual tricks would be sufficiently enticing. “I’m Gaby.”

“I’m –” the student started.

Illya cut him off with a short, “Gaby, we need to get to class.”

Gaby sighed and tried to fight her urge to glare at Illya, while the other man just laughed and teased, “Oh, come on! Loosen up!”

Illya’s eye twitched; he said nothing but instead gently grabbed Gaby’s arm and pulled her off behind him. Gaby gave the student an apologetic glance as she staggered away behind Illya.

As soon as they were out of sight, Gaby hissed, “Good going.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Flirting with every student won’t get you anywhere. You need to find McAllister.”

“You don’t know that that wasn’t McAllister,” Gaby scowled.

“You don’t know that it was,” Illya replied, albeit with a slight bit of humor in his voice. “Come on, cousin dear. We have class.”

Gaby was too annoyed at Illya and his petty jealousy to pay attention in their next class, although Illya had returned to his usual professional self and was obediently jotting down notes again. When this professor was done droning on, Illya gallantly opened the door for Gaby, only to stop dead.

Their friend from earlier was loitering in the hallway, obviously waiting for them. He looked up when the door opened, saw the German woman, and beamed at her. “Gaby! I thought I’d seen you heading this way.”

“Hello again,” Gaby smiled, stomping on Illya’s foot to interrupt the intense glare he was giving the other man. “I don’t think I managed to catch your name.”

“Nope, you didn’t,” the student replied, glancing at Illya. He was about to introduce himself when he noticed the sour look he was getting from the Russian and asked, “You okay, pal?”

It took Illya a moment to realize he was the one being addressed; when he did he simply gave a curt nod. Gaby sighed and said, “This is my cousin Mikhail. He’s…not from around here.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” the student nodded. He smiled broadly and asked, “Well, how’s America treating you, buddy?”

“You Americans smile too much,” was Illya’s terse response.

“Right,” the student said slowly, looking a little uncomfortable. He asked, chuckling, “Can I introduce myself now, or do you have another class?”

“Actually, we do,” Illya grumbled. “Gaby, let’s go.”

“Misha,” Gaby snapped firmly, “Let’s not be rude.”

“Let’s not be late,” Illya replied instead, hauling her off once again.

Gaby refused to even sit by Illya in their third and last class of the day, annoyed at his willingness to potentially sabotage their mission. He once again met her at the door after class, but instead of holding it open for her said quickly, “Wait here for me. I need to use restroom.”

As soon as he was gone, Gaby went into the hallway, where – as she guessed – her admirer was waiting for her again. He noticed Illya’s absence and commented, “Ditched the bodyguard, I see.”

Gaby sighed, smiling a little. “Misha is my only cousin. He’s…protective. He means well, I promise.”

“Can’t fault him for that,” the student shrugged. He offered Gaby a winning smile and said, “I’m Andrew McAllister. Nice to meet you, Gaby.”

Gaby tried to change her triumphant smirk into a delicate, girlish smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Andrew beamed back. He paused and went on, “Say, my boys and I are having a little get-together this weekend. Would you want to come? You can even bring your stuffy cousin too. He’s pretty uptight, but a weekend with us should get that out of his system. Do him some good.”

It was the perfect in. Gaby offered her best flirty smile and replied, “I can’t wait.”

Andrew smiled, nodded a little awkwardly, said, “I’ll see you this weekend, then,” and ambled away.

Illya came back as soon as Andrew as gone, scowling, “I thought I told you to meet me in the room.”

“Andrew McAllister invited us to a party on Saturday,” Gaby replied instead. “Maybe you should try listening to me for a change?”

Illya had no response but a long, miserable sigh.


	4. Grand Old American Shindig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are few things Illya Kuryakin hates more than parties.

Once again, Illya was sulking in the living room ‘watching’ TV, although this time Gaby was sitting in the tiny bathroom doing her hair.

“I rather like Andrew,” Gaby called, just loud enough that she knew Illya could hear her.

After a moment, the quiet chatter of the TV went silent. There was a pause and Illya grumbled, “He followed you around and waited until you were alone to invite you to a party. I do not like him.”

“He did make a point of inviting you too,” Gaby smirked. Illya’s head poked into the bathroom and he snapped, “Good, because it is the only way you are going to party.”

Gaby rolled her eyes. “You are too protective. It’s suspicious."

“Yes, I am protective, because I care about you,” Illya practically hissed, his harsh tone almost hiding the genuine sentiment he had expressed. “And besides. You are my only cousin. No good Russian man would let anything happen to the little cousin he loves like sister. No such thing as too protective.”

Gaby let the issue drop, continuing to curl her hair as Illya leaned against the doorframe. The silence didn’t last long before Gaby went on, “At least promise me you’ll be friendly and stay out of trouble.”

“I will try,” Illya replied.

“Not the same thing,” Gaby replied with a little smile. “Cousin dear, can you help me with my necklace?”

She held up a pretty pearl necklace; when Illya made no move to help her she shook it a little. Gaby watched in the mirror as Illya’s petulant, stubborn frown softened into a tiny smile. He stepped forward to take the necklace, fumbling with the comically small clasp.

Gaby smiled at her reflection and teased, “Don’t go flirting with all the pretty Americans while I’m off with our target.”

“I have no interest in American women,” Illya scowled, still struggling with Gaby’s necklace.

“I have a feeling they might have an interest in you,” Gaby replied, fighting back a little surge of jealousy at her own teasing words.

“I am not planning on talking to anyone, so this will not be problem,” Illya brushed her off. He finally clasped the necklace and took a step back.

Gaby turned around, looking him up and down and smiling. “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Illya couldn’t help but blush a little. He awkwardly cleared his throat and said, “We should be going.”

*

In terms of the mission, the party was going perfectly smoothly. Gaby had been talking and laughing and drinking with Andrew McAllister all night, leaving Illya sitting by himself in the alcove of one of the house’s bay windows. All by himself wasn’t quite right – Andrew’s fat little dog was sitting there with him, enjoying Illya’s quiet attention.

Large social gatherings had never been Illya’s forte; the constant chatter and endless distractions and invisibility in a crowd made him nervous, and then made his hands shake, and then the pounding in his ears started…

“Howdy there,” a bright female voice said. Illya looked up, startled from his thoughts – a pretty blonde girl stood in front of him. “You look lonely.”

“I’m not,” Illya assured her awkwardly. He nodded at the sleeping dog next to him. “I have the dog with me.”

The girl laughed and sat down on the other side of the dog, much to Illya’s chagrin. She offered him one of the glasses in her hand with a simple, “Want a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Illya replied, trying to shift away from the girl. He was still learning how to gracefully speak to Gaby; the last thing he wanted was to be forced back to square one with another woman.

“Oh, come on,” the girl took his hand and put the drink in it. Illya reluctantly accepted it, forcing himself to stare at his shoes instead of protesting. The girl barely let the silence settle before she pressed on, “I’m Sharon. What’s your name?”

“Mikhail,” Illya replied curtly, desperately pressing himself against the wall in the hopes it would swallow him. Gaby needed to hurry up and get the information she needed…

“What kind of name is that?” Sharon asked.

“Russian,” Illya managed. “You can call me Misha.”

“Misha,” Sharon repeated with a giggle. “That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” a male voice demanded. Despite the hostile tone, Illya was relieved that he hadn’t had to formulate a reply to the girl’s comment. Gaby was the honeypot, not him, and he just wanted to go back to the hotel.

“Oh, calm down, Johnny,” Sharon rolled her eyes. “His nickname is Misha. It’s a cute little name.”

“Oh, so you think he’s cute?” Johnny seethed. Illya resumed his active attempt to vanish into the wall.

“Maybe I do,” Sharon scowled. “Calm down.”

Instead of calming down, Johnny yanked Illya to his feet by his collar. It took all of Illya’s willpower to not immediately fight and instead pretend to be scared.

“You makin’ moves on my girlfriend, pal?” Johnny seethed.

Illya sighed, thinking to himself how UNCLE was not paying him nearly enough to get into fights with cocky American college students. He replied, “No. The reverse, though…”

He didn’t get to finish the sentence before Johnny punched him hard in the gut. Illya’s vision spun and filled with stars – somehow the boy had managed to hit Illya’s still-fresh stab wound from Johannesburg. The pain was so intense Illya could hear himself wheezing and gasping, doubled over with a hand pressed to the newly-reopened injury.

“Johnny, what the hell?” Sharon’s angry yell barely registered in Illya’s ears.

“Not so tough, are you, pal?” Johnny practically roared, ignoring Sharon, as Illya desperately grabbed for the wall. He had never been in this much pain…his vision was going hazy and he knew that for the first time, he was about to lose a fight.

The next few punches left him down on hands and knees, coughing up blood. Suddenly a familiar voice screamed, “ _Misha!_ ”

Someone was kneeling next to him, a protective arm around his shoulders. Illya vaguely recognized Gaby’s voice snarling, “Leave him alone! He didn’t do anything to you!”

There were small sounds of a struggle and Andrew’s voice cut through Illya’s pained daze, demanding, “Johnny, man, what the hell?”

“This Soviet pig was hitting on my girlfriend!” Johnny snapped.

“Looks like you were doing some serious hitting on him too, buddy. Look at the poor guy – he’s puking up blood. Leave him alone,” Andrew scowled. When Johnny started to protest, Andrew threatened, “Leave him alone or leave the party.”

Johnny shut up and walked away; Andrew kneeled down next to Gaby and asked, “You okay, buddy?”

Illya opened his mouth to answer and instead collapsed face-first onto the floor.

*

Illya woke up in his apartment hours later with absolutely no idea how he got there, stitches in his side and a large bandage over his reopened stab wound. Gaby was watching TV in the living room, but the sound of a male voice – Andrew’s voice – indicated she wasn’t alone.

Illya fell back onto his pillow with a groan. He was right – college was as bad as he expected it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry - Napoleon will be back soon!


	5. Lab Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon goes to investigate the campus lab and finds himself doing a completely different kind of work.

All in all, Napoleon thought the mission was going pretty well. Sure, Illya had gotten socked right in the knife wound in his side. And sure, he’d been bleeding so badly Gaby had to call Carson to find a doctor that would stitch him up _without_ asking why exactly there was a knife wound to begin with. But Andrew was clearly very taken with Gaby and that was the whole point of this part of the mission, so Napoleon figured Illya could stand to lose a fight here and there.

Granted, he been more than a little worried when Gaby told him what happened. Not that Napoleon would ever admit it – perish the thought of letting Peril accuse him of going soft – but the thought of losing a partner he had never known he wanted made him feel a little sick.

He shook the thought from his mind and focused on his mission for today – investigating the more-than-slightly-suspicious lab on campus. If McAllister was trying to up his game from standard (if not overpowered) firearms to some kind of chemical weapon, UNCLE needed to know. Truth be told, Napoleon hoped he didn’t find anything. Stopping the Vinciguerras’ nuclear scheme had given him more gray hairs than he cared to count, and he didn’t need any more from finding chemical weapons.

He walked into the lobby of the lab building, where a frazzled middle-aged woman sat at a desk, jugging paperwork and a phone. Napoleon moved to stroll right past her, seeing her distracted conversation, but he was stopped by a harsh, “Hold it, mister!”

The woman set the phone down and scowled, “You need authorization to use the campus labs.”

“I’m a professor here,” Napoleon replied, faking a hurt expression.

“Let’s see your ID,” the woman looked unimpressed.

Napoleon obediently pulled out the faculty ID card Carson had had made for him and handed it to the skeptical receptionist. She examined it and handed it back with a sheepish, “Sorry, sir. You don’t look like a professor.”

“No worries,” Napoleon flashed her a dazzling grin. “Just doing your job. Keep up the good work.”

The woman blushed and nodded as Napoleon walked away, slipping his ID back into his pocket. He had just made it past the lobby and into the main body of the lab when he realized something – he didn’t know what precisely he was looking for. Waverly had said ‘suspicious activity,’ but hadn’t elaborated past that, and all the experiments going on looked suspicious to Napoleon. He was a fake art professor, not a fake science professor, for a reason.

“You look lost,” a chipper female voice said. Napoleon turned to look at the speaker – a young blonde woman wearing a lab coat and goggles. “Can I help?”

“I’m just looking around,” Napoleon replied. The woman took her goggles off, to reveal features worthy of a model’s, accented by the brightest green eyes Napoleon had ever seen.

She laughed. “This isn’t a supermarket, you don’t exactly browse.”

“Maybe I do,” Napoleon said, albeit with a smile.

“Well, Mr. Lab Shopper, I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Do you browse labs often, or is this your first time?” the woman asked.

“I’m a new professor here,” Napoleon replied. “Haven’t been in yet.”

“Oh? Professor of what?” the woman cocked her head.

“Art history,” Napoleon smiled at the woman’s puzzled look.

“And what, exactly, are you doing in a science lab?” she asked.

“Science is important to art. Da Vinci wouldn’t have been able to paint if he didn’t know anatomy. We still use it, except now it’s to date artwork. Science and art have always had an _intimate_ relationship,” Napoleon replied, letting his voice drop to the low register he knew women tended to love.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” the woman tried to scowl, but she was smiling.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were letting me,” Napoleon smirked back.

“You sound like the art history teacher Andy is always talking about,” the woman said instead. “He said his teacher seems like a modern Cary Grant.”

“Andy? Don’t think I have any of those in my classes,” Napoleon replied. He grinned. “I’m more like Clark Gable, anyway.”

“You’ve got to be Andy’s teacher,” the woman laughed. She stuck her hand out, waiting for Napoleon to shake it. “I’m Maggie McAllister, Andy’s little sister.”

“McAllister?” Napoleon raised an eyebrow, trying to not look triumphant. Waverly hadn’t mentioned a second McAllister kid, but she could be just as valuable as her brother, if Napoleon played his cards right.

“Yeah, _that_ McAllister,” Maggie sighed. “Timothy McAllister is my stepdad.”

“Not what I was thinking at all,” Napoleon replied, taking her hand and kissing it instead of shaking it; Maggie blushed. “I was just thinking how that happens to be my favorite last name.”

The woman laughed. “I think you’re more Cary Grant after all.”

Napoleon peered over her shoulder at her workstation, saying instead, “What are you working on back here, Maggie? Looks complicated.”

“Oh, stuff for school. Well, stuff for dad, but they’re letting me use it for a project,” Maggie waved him off, clearly uninterested.

“For your dad?” Napoleon pressed.

“Yeah, dad runs a big business. Told me some investors wanted us to start a new project, so I’m working on it, since I’m a science student,” Maggie explained, still not particularly enthused.

“Sounds like a big deal,” Napoleon replied.

“Whatever,” Maggie grumbled. She immediately turned her teasing smile back on and asked, “You said you’re an art history teacher, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Napoleon smiled back. He had a feeling he knew where she was going with this.

“Think I could get a lesson or two from you? I know I’m not in your class, but there’s something about those old Greek and Roman sculptures I really like,” Maggie practically purred.

Napoleon paused a beat and couldn’t resist offering, “Maybe the fact they’re nude?”

“That must be it,” Maggie said, moving a little closer to Napoleon. She whispered in his ear, “Maybe you could give me a lesson, oh, tonight?”

Napoleon smiled down at the young woman. Well, he hadn’t gotten to investigate the lab in any particular detail, but he had a feeling Maggie McAllister and her pet project were exactly what he was looking for.

“I’d be happy to,” Napoleon replied with a dazzling grin.

*

Napoleon lay awake late at night, Maggie snoring gently next to him. Waverly was likely going to be annoyed Napoleon had resorted to seduction _again_ , but he had never said that Gaby was the only honeypot on this mission.

Thinking of Gaby reminded him of the one member of the team who _wasn’t_ a honeypot – dear old Peril. Napoleon was certain the Soviet had bugged him once again, as it was practically a tradition at this point.

The thought of Illya having to listen to Gaby flirt with Andrew _and_ Napoleon seduce Maggie - at the same time, no less - put an amused smile on Napoleon’s face until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular is dedicated to one of the friends who inspired this story, as she INSISTED I have Napoleon seduce someone at some point.


	6. Dinner at McAllister's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaby makes a breakthrough in getting to Timothy McAllister.

Illya was gradually getting used to the concept of third wheeling for Gaby and Andrew – not that he liked it. The three of them were in Gaby and Illya’s little apartment, Gaby and Andrew watching a movie on TV while Illya played chess in the corner of the room. The two were talking in hushed tones; it took all of Illya’s self control to at least pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping.

“I’ve told my parents all about you,” Andrew told Gaby; Illya’s eye twitched. “They really want to meet you.”

“Oh?” Gaby asked. “That’s exciting.”

“Do you want to come to my parents’ house with me for dinner tomorrow night?” Andrew asked, a little timidly.

“Tomorrow?” Gaby’s voice was high and strained – that wasn’t nearly enough time for her and Illya to prepare for what was essentially the next phase of the mission.

“Yeah! Mom makes the best dinner on Friday nights, to celebrate the workweek being done,” Andrew beamed. “Don’t be nervous. It’ll be fine.”

Gaby forced a smile and agreed, “Okay. That sounds nice.”

Illya’s hand was trembling so badly that when he set down the knight piece he was holding, he snapped it in half.

*

“Well,” Illya said, putting the car into park. He turned to face Gaby, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “We’re here.”

Gaby said nothing, her hands knotted in her purse strap. Illya put one of his colossal hands on hers and insisted quietly, “It’ll be okay, Gaby. I’ll be nearby. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You said that in Rome,” Gaby mumbled; she didn’t mean it as an insult, but Illya flinched regardless. “You can’t stop everything.”

“For you, I can,” Illya insisted. “And I will. Whatever happens, I will make sure you are safe. And if someone hurts you…it is last thing they do.”

Despite herself, the corner of Gaby’s mouth twitched up into a smile. “Thank you, Illya.”

“Anything for you, _moya zvedza_ ,” Illya replied, trying to smile a little as well. He had the unfortunate habit of slipping back into Russian when he was nervous, which meant that Gaby knew the meaning of practically none of his nicknames for her.

“I should head inside,” Gaby whispered, knotting her hands in her purse strap again. She wouldn’t look at Illya.

“Yes, you should,” Illya nodded. He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “I will be right outside. If you need anything, I will be there.”

Gaby nodded mutely, getting out of the car.

Illya watched her walk up the long front walk, hesitate at the door, and finally steel herself enough to knock. The door opened almost immediately and Andrew greeted Gaby with a big smile – clearly, he had been waiting impatiently for her. The man waved at Illya, who reluctantly waved back, before he and Gaby headed inside.

As soon as the door closed, Illya sped off to hide the car nearby. He didn’t even notice the weight of the heavy listening equipment he hauled with inhuman speed into the woods behind the McAllisters’ house. All he cared about was getting there, being there, in case Gaby needed him. He’d failed her in Rome – even if Waverly had told her to betray them, Illya had still told her that he would be there, and he had let her down – and he would _never_ fail her again. A promise to Gaby was a promise he would keep no matter what.

Thankfully, Gaby knew how to take care of herself, too. She was the perfect image of grace and charm (or so Illya imagined, from what he could hear of her conversations from his static-filled equipment) and two women – Andrew’s mother and sister, Illya presumed – seemed quite taken with her.

Timothy McAllister seemed much more reserved than the two women, but offered the same vapid American pleasantries that the rest of the family had. Everything seemed to be going well, well enough that Illya finally allowed himself to relax just a modicum.

That was when everything went wrong.

The family had just finished dinner when Andrew’s sister announced she had homework to do, while Andrew’s mother left to do the dishes. Timothy drawled, “Andrew, do your old man a favor and go get me a scotch, would you?”

Andrew sighed but grumbled, “Yeah, dad.”

As soon as he was gone, Timothy asked Gaby, “Do you mind talking to me alone for a moment?”

“Of course not,” Gaby replied. A scraping sound indicated the two got up from their seats, followed by a door opening and closing. The signal from the bug in Gaby’s necklace started to fade, but Illya could hear Gaby ask, “What about, Mr. McAllister?"

“My company. That _is_ why you’re here, isn’t it?” McAllister replied, voice cold.

Bile rose up in Illya’s throat. No, not again. This couldn’t happen again.

“I haven’t the slightest what you’re talking about,” Gaby bluffed.

“Lying is not becoming, my dear,” now McAllister sounded positively predatory. “You’re going to tell me what you know.”

Illya didn’t wait to hear the rest – Gaby’s cover was blown, somehow, some way, and he needed to get her out of there. His instincts screamed to just run in and grab her, but the calmer, cooler part of his brain (the one he credited to Cowboy’s influence, but would never admit to aloud) told him to reconsider.

He only had to think a moment before he gathered up his listening equipment and bolted back to the car. A heartbeat later, after a drive that probably broke land speed records, Illya was running up the stairs to Napoleon’s chic apartment.

Illya didn’t even wait to knock, or even try the knob – he slammed his weight into the door shoulder-first, leaving him standing in Napoleon’s living room surrounded by splinters of wood.

Napoleon blinked up at him from his book. “You could’ve knocked.”

“Gaby’s cover is blown. McAllister has her,” Illya breathed.

Napoleon stared at him in shock.

“We’re going to get her back. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moya zvedza - my star
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long - college got crazy! I'll do my best to get this story finished up by the end of this week. (:


	7. Salvage Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting Gaby back from McAllister is slightly harder than Illya and Napoleon anticipated.

“Hold up a second, Peril,” Napoleon tried to calm him. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Gaby has dinner with McAllister family. Timothy McAllister gets her alone, and accuses her of being there because she is interested in company. She denies this, he threatens her,” Illya explained tersely. “He knows Gaby is not who she says she is.”

“So she’s still at the McAllisters’ house?” Napoleon asked.

“I do not know,” Illya replied. “I came here right away.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t burst in and wring his neck,” Napoleon’s tone was dangerously light and teasing, considering how tightly wound Illya was.

“I thought of it. I thought better of it,” Illya snapped. “And now you know what is going on. Let’s go.”

“What are we going to do, waltz up and ask for Gaby back?” Napoleon demanded; Illya turned and walked away, leaving Napoleon to groan in frustration and follow.

“I am going to keep with cover and go to the house as her worried cousin. If something happens, then you are there for backup,” Illya said.

“That’s…your plan. That’s your entire plan,” Napoleon scowled. “Peril, you worrying about Gaby is cute, but you can’t let it cloud your judgment.”

“I am not cute,” Illya spat right back, unlocking the car. “My judgment is clear as ever. Someone does something to Gaby, I kill them. Let’s go.”

Napoleon got in the car, but he wasn’t happy about it. As they sped off, he accused, “You’re willing to sabotage this whole mission because McAllister is suspicious of Gaby.”

“You did not hear him,” Illya replied, voice deadly cold. “He intended to hurt her if she didn’t talk, and maybe if she did. Besides. Our mission is to stop him from selling arms to criminals. If he is dead, he cannot sell them.”

“Waverly wants him _alive_ , so he can rat on his conspirators,” Napoleon scolded.

Illya had no response but a noncommittal shrug. Napoleon, more than slightly concerned, sat in silence the remainder of the car ride. This time, Illya didn’t even bother to hide the car – he left it pulled up in the McAllisters’ driveway, the engine running and his partner awkwardly waiting in the front seat.

It took all his self-control to keep his knock on the door gentle and polite, when all he wanted was to break down the door and find Gaby. After a painfully long wait, Andrew answered the door. “Misha! Hey, pal.”

“Where is Gaby?” Illya demanded.

“Oh, right. I was supposed to call you. Dad said the two of them got to talking and somehow his sailboat popped up in conversation. She really wanted to see it, I guess, so they went down to the marina,” Andrew replied. “Sorry I didn’t call. Didn’t mean to worry you, buddy. I’ll drive her home when they get back.”

“Which marina?” Illya tried to keep the harsh edge from his tone, but he noticed Andrew’s eyebrows go up ever so slightly in surprise.

“Oh, lighten up, Misha. Gaby’s an adult, she doesn’t need a curfew,” Andrew laughed. “Like I said, I’ll bring her home. Don’t worry.”

“Which. Marina,” Illya hissed through clenched teeth. His hand was trembling, so he clenched it to still the tremors, but that didn’t stop the pounding in his ears, or the swelling anger at Andrew’s flippancy…

“Easy, pal. If you’re so worried, I’ll tell you,” Andrew put his hands up in surrender. “White Cove Marina. Down Main Street a ways. Can’t miss it.”

Illya turned to leave. Andrew called after him, “It’s nice of you to worry about her so much, Misha. I know it means a lot to her.”

The surge of affection and sheer terror for Gaby paralyzed Illya for a moment, before he shook it off and got back in the car. As Illya started the engine, Napoleon asked, “Where to?”

“The marina,” Illya replied curtly.

*

At first Napoleon couldn’t figure out why Illya had left Gaby to come find him, but when they got to the marina he couldn’t help but think that maybe Peril was thinking tactically after all. The space where McAllister’s boat belonged was empty, and a little ways out in the bay a boat was visible. 

Of course, they hadn’t been prepared for any kind of aquatic mission. The dive shop at the marina, however, was. It had only taken Napoleon a matter of minutes to break into the shop and its safe and get the equipment they needed.

When Napoleon came back out of the shop, he made to hand the equipment Illya needed to him, but the big Russian was too busy staring at the water. Napoleon nudged him and said, “Earth to Peril.”

Illya shook his head, coming back to reality. “What?”

“Air tank and breathing gear for you, and extra gear for Gaby when we get her. I’ll be on one of these skiffs, distracting McAllister. You’ll sneak on board, grab Gaby, and swim back to shore,” Napoleon explained.

Illya nodded silently. Napoleon, noticing the odd change in his partner’s demeanor, asked, “You okay, Peril?”

The tall man was silent for a moment before admitting quietly, “Since Rome, I hate water.”

“Almost drowning’ll do that to you,” Napoleon agreed. “But this is for Gaby. You’re not going to let a little water get between you and saving her, will you?”

Illya’s face hardened. “No.”

Napoleon smirked a little, knowing he had pushed exactly the right buttons. “Well, see you on the other side, Peril.”

He jumped into the closest skiff and began working to start the old, temperamental engine. Illya slipped on the air tank, bit down on the mouthpiece, and dove into the water.

It was dark and cold and the sailboat was _much_ further out than he would like, but this was for Gaby – he would do far more painful things to save her. Above, he could faintly hear the sounds of Napoleon finally getting the engine started.

He reached the boat in no time at all, hiding in the shadows by the boat’s hull and waiting for Napoleon to make his move.

Just when he started to think that perhaps Napoleon had abandoned him, the sound of a roaring engine began to come closer, accompanied by – were those gunshots? Above him, on deck, Illya could hear McAllister swearing violently and heading belowdeck to get his own weapon.

That was his chance. In one powerful motion, Illya pulled himself onto the boat, grabbed ahold of Gaby, and launched the two of them back down into the inky water below.

When they surfaced, Gaby spluttered and started to yell, so Illya clamped a hand over her mouth. He whispered urgently in her ear, “Gaby, it’s me. Cowboy and I came to get you.”

Gaby pulled his hand off her face and demanded, “Why didn’t you _tell me_?”

“I didn’t think we had time,” Illya replied, hurt. He handed her the extra breathing gear attached to his oxygen tank. “Here. Hold onto me and I’ll get us back to shore.”

Despite being in a foul mood – and rightfully so, Illya reluctantly thought to himself – Gaby did as she was told. The two of them were back to shore before Napoleon was, stripping off their equipment and collapsing on the beach.

They didn’t have much time to rest, though, before Napoleon pulled up in his skiff. He said, pleasantly as always, “No time to sleep now, kids. McAllister’s right behind me, and he’s a little put out.”

Sure enough, the wind had shifted in McAllister’s favor and he was hot on Napoleon’s heels. As he got closer, the trio could make out the weapon he’d gotten from belowdeck – not a pistol or even shotgun as Illya had expected, but what looked to be a vintage machine gun.

None of them even had to say it – they got up and ran as one back towards the car, bullets pinging off the metal dock behind them. Illya started the car and was speeding away before Napoleon’s door was even closed, tires squealing from the sudden acceleration.

It was only hours later and after a few stiff drinks each that they were willing to discuss the implications of the night’s shenanigans. Napoleon asked, “Gaby, how did McAllister find out about who you really were?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know what he really knew – he may have thought I was a spy for another company. He was so angry I couldn’t tell,” Gaby replied.

“That doesn’t matter. We need another way to get to McAllister. One that doesn’t involve Gaby or me,” Illya cut in.

They all thought for a moment before an idea came to Napoleon; a smile lit up his face like he was a child on Christmas morning. He beamed at his two bedraggled, grumpy partners.

“I may know just the girl.”


	8. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With their original plan foiled, Napoleon tries to find a new way to get to Timothy McAllister.

The next day, Napoleon found Maggie exactly where he expected to find her – hard at work on her project in the science lab. She didn’t even notice his presence a few paces behind her until he commented, “Aren’t you a busy bee?” 

Maggie jumped, knocking over a beaker and whirling around. Napoleon expected her furious scowl to disappear when she saw him, but to his great surprise it only deepened. She demanded, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“You know, last time we met you were a lot happier to see me,” Napoleon replied dryly.

“That was before Dad went off the deep end,” Maggie snapped.

“Oh?” Napoleon asked.

Maggie was still glaring at him, but explained, “Turns out Andy’s girlfriend was some kind of spy or something.”

“Wow, how about that?” Napoleon did his best impression of surprise, but Maggie still narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Well, Dad doesn’t trust anybody now, and told us not to either, especially not people we just met,” Maggie replied pointedly. “So I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Please.”

“What if I promised I wasn’t a spy?” Napoleon asked.

Maggie rolled her eyes and turned back to her workstation. “Promises don’t mean anything.”

Napoleon paused a moment, looking for a different angle of attack, when a harebrained idea came to him. He hoped it would work, because otherwise Illya would probably kill him.

“What if I admitted I was a spy?” Napoleon said. Maggie grew very still and didn’t say anything for a long time.

When she finally moved again, she turned around slowly and hissed, “You have got to be the worst jokester on Earth.”

“I’m not joking,” Napoleon replied simply. “You wanted honesty, I’m being honest.”

“Let me guess, you know Andy’s fake girlfriend too,” Maggie accused.

“Gaby. She’s one of my partners,” Napoleon said.

“One of?” Maggie narrowed her eyes.

“Misha, Gaby’s cousin? Not her cousin. He’s our partner too,” Napoleon shrugged, trying to dismiss Maggie’s rapidly worsening mood.

“So you’re not actually a teacher?”

“Afraid not.”

“So you lied to me,” Maggie was seething. “Wish I could say it was the first time a guy’s lied to me, but it’s never quite been like this.”

“I have a good reason,” Napoleon immediately realized that was the wrong way to say it, as Maggie’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“I’ve heard that one too. Let’s hear it,” Maggie’s voice was breathy with anger.

“Your stepfather is an arms dealer,” Napoleon began.

“Arms manufacturer. That’s not news, genius,” Maggie scowled.

“Arms dealer,” Napoleon corrected. “He’s working on a deal to sell a bunch of weapons to an international criminal organization. We also have reason to believe that your little science project here is going to be turned into some kind of chemical weapon. So, they sent us to get close to him and stop this deal.”

Maggie blinked at him in surprise. “And why are you telling me this?”

“Well, Gaby was pretending to be Andrew’s girlfriend to get close to your dad. Obviously, that didn’t work. But we need to stop him, or a lot of people are going to get hurt. So…I’m telling you all this in the hopes that you’ll want to help,” Napoleon replied simply.

“You want me to help you get my dad in a lot of trouble,” Maggie repeated slowly. “ _After_ you and one of your partners lied to me and Andy to use us.”

“That about sums it up,” Napoleon admitted.

Maggie regarded him for a very long time before asking, “You said that this deal of Dad’s is going to hurt a lot of people?”

“He’s going to sell very dangerous weapons to international criminals. Who knows what they’ll use them for,” Napoleon nodded.

There was another long silence before Maggie reluctantly nodded and sighed, “I’ll help you. I love my dad, but I don’t want to let him do something awful just for a stupid business deal.”

Napoleon, though pleased, recoiled a little in shock. He smiled and practically purred, “Let’s get you back to my apartment, shall we?”

Maggie raised a skeptical eyebrow, so Napoleon amended, “To talk about our plan of action, of course. Time’s running out and we need to know what’s going on.”

The woman still looked fairly skeptical, but followed him back to his car.

*

“You did _what?_ ” Illya roared.

“I told Andrew’s sister Maggie about what was going on. She agreed to help us,” Napoleon replied calmly.

“How do you know she won’t betray us to her father?” Illya demanded.

“Well, we don’t really have any other options,” Napoleon scowled back. “We need to get to McAllister quickly, and his kids have more access than anyone.”

“We _tried_ that!” Illya yelled back. He turned away and paced for a moment, trembling with more anger than Napoleon had seen from him in a while, before he stormed back over, jabbed a finger in Napoleon’s face, and snarled, “This is American way. This gets nothing done. We need Russian way. Break into weapon factory, find information, and interrogate the rest from McAllister.”

“Perhaps we’ll have to resort to that later,” Gaby put in, trying to calm him. “But for now, let’s try this.”

Illya put his face in his hands in frustration, rubbing at his temples. “Fine. Do what you want. I still think it is terrible idea.”

“Duly noted,” Napoleon nodded, albeit with a smile. “Let’s go work up a plan with Maggie.”

The three walked back into the other room where Maggie was patiently waiting with a cup of coffee – and another person.

Napoleon and Illya had their guns drawn before they even realized who their surprise guest was, prompting alarmed outbursts from Gaby, Maggie, and the stranger.

Or not stranger, as the case was. Both men lowered their weapons upon recognizing the confused and more than slightly terrified face of Andrew McAllister.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Illya demanded of no one in particular, gesturing with his gun; Andrew flinched.

“I called him,” Maggie replied simply.

“Maggie, all due respect, but I really don’t think – ” Napoleon began.

“I want to help,” Andrew said.

Both Napoleon and Illya made to protest his statement before his words registered and the two spies stared at him dumbly. Gaby asked, “What?”

“Maggie told me that Dad is up to something that could give a bunch of bad guys a whole lot of weapons,” Andrew explained; something cold and determined was in his eyes. “That’s not what the family business is about, and that’s not going to be what we’re known for. I want to stop him. I want to help.”

Illya and Napoleon stared at each other, dumbstruck, before Napoleon regained his wits, beamed, and said, “Well, let’s get to work, shall we?”


	9. The Final Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With help from Andrew and Maggie McAllister, Napoleon, Gaby, and Illya make their final move to take down Timothy McAllister.

“This is terrible plan,” Illya grumbled into his glass of vodka.

“Do you have a better one?” Napoleon challenged.

Illya said nothing for a while before childishly mumbling, “Still terrible plan.”

“What is?” Maggie asked, coming back into the room with Gaby and Andrew.

“So to recap our terrible plan,” Napoleon shot a disapproving look at Illya, who pointedly ignored it. “Maggie and Andrew, you’ll take Gaby to your dad.”

“What are we going to tell him?” Andrew asked, more than slightly nervously.

“Say you ran into her and you knew your dad wanted to talk to her, so you brought her by the house, or something to that effect,” Napoleon said. “It doesn’t matter, as long as he believes it.”

“Then what?” Maggie asked.

“He’s probably going to want to interrogate Gaby,” Napoleon went on. “Let him, so long as he doesn’t seriously injure or try to kill her.”

“Thank you for volunteering me,” Gaby scowled.

“I told you it was terrible plan,” Illya persisted.

“Why, exactly, am I being interrogated?” Gaby demanded.

“To distract McAllister,” Illya explained. “Cowboy and I need to break into factory to find evidence we can use to arrest him. If he is busy trying to get information out of you, he will not be able to interrupt us.”

“Plus, you may be able to get more information out of him,” Napoleon added. “Kind of a…reverse interrogation.”

“Why do you two get to have all the fun?” Gaby huffed.

“Because you have not gotten around to doing your training,” Illya replied with a wry smile. “Maybe this will give you motivation to do that.”

Gaby’s glare would have incinerated a regular human being. She pouted, “Andrew, Maggie, let’s go. We can leave them to their important secret agent things, while we go get real work done.”

The woman turned on her heel and left; the two very confused McAllister siblings followed her out the door. Napoleon smirked at Illya, who looked extremely sullen, and said, “Well, let’s get to work.”

*

They were driving to the McAllister house when suddenly Andrew pulled the car over and parked it. Maggie asked, “Andy, what are you doing?”

“Gaby, are you sure you’re okay with this?” Andrew turned to Gaby.

“I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t,” Gaby replied simply.

“They didn’t really give you a chance to say no,” Andrew scowled.

“I trust them,” Gaby said, her tone indicating the discussion was over.

The awkward silence was palpable as Andrew restarted the engine and sullenly drove the rest of the way to the house. All three of them were hesitant to get out of the car once it was parked in the driveway, but Gaby steeled herself and led the way – she was the agent here, and as nervous as she was, the two college kids were obviously more so. She would rather have Illya with her if she was being interrogated, to be brave for her, but Andrew and Maggie would have to do, and she would have to be brave for them.

Andrew finally found his courage and led the way up the front walk, stopping on the stoop and knocking. Timothy McAllister opened the door, regarded his son curiously, and said, “Hey, Andy. I was just about to head to the factory, this isn’t exactly the best time…”

And then he noticed the striking young woman between his son and daughter. He said coolly, “This is a…surprise.”

“I…I ran into Gaby on campus,” Andrew lied convincingly, though his voice was trembling. “And I know you said a lot of awful things about her, and I don’t believe them. I wanted to give Gaby a chance to tell you her side of the story.”

Timothy tried to offer his son a smile; instead, he sneered at the three. “I’d be happy to hear her out. Work can wait. Come in.”

*

“You doing okay, Peril?” Napoleon asked. The pair was standing just outside the fence that parked the perimeter of McAllister Firearm’s property. Illya was staring at the fence, brow scrunched and fists clenched.

“We do this quickly,” Illya replied instead. “And then we go get Gaby.”

“Yes, that’s the plan,” Napoleon nodded.

“Then we get moving. I will not let Gaby be with McAllister longer than needed,” Illya practically spat.

“Which McAllister?” Napoleon couldn’t resist the temptation to tease.

Illya glared at him while ripping the chain links apart with his bare hands. Napoleon tried to give his Soviet partner a winning smile in return, but it was faltering at best – this time, he’d pushed the wrong button, and much too hard.

“Come on, Cowboy,” Illya growled, leading the way through the destroyed fence. The factory compound was huge, but they had a good idea of where to go, thanks to Andrew.

A few minutes and several muffled gunshots later, they arrived at the back of the research and development building, which doubled as a storage facility. No guards had seen them – at least, no guards who were still alive or conscious – and despite Illya’s itchy trigger finger, all was going well.

The pair looked up at the window they had decided on as their entry point and a problem presented itself. Napoleon commented blithely, “Is it just me, or was that window a lot lower in the blueprint?”

Illya glared at the window as if that would change something. “McAllister boy lied to us.”

“Or had bad information,” Napoleon soothed. “Let’s just find something we can climb up on, and we’ll be fine.”

“This is taking time we had not planned for. This is not fine,” Illya scowled as he obediently went and hauled a very large crate over to the side of the building.

Napoleon looked back up at the window. “I think I can get in if you give me a boost, Peril.”

“What about me?” Illya asked.

“We’ll figure that out,” Napoleon shrugged.

Illya gave him the boost he needed, allowing the smaller American to pull himself through the window and onto the catwalk below. He called, “Well, in good news, the catwalk is close to the window.”

“Can you help pull me up?” Illya asked.

“It’s not that close, Peril. Sorry, comrade,” Napoleon replied.

There was a long, frustrated silence. “Toss me your tie.”

“What?” Napoleon demanded.

“You heard me. Toss me your tie. I use it as rope to climb up,” Illya insisted.

Sighing heavily, Napoleon obeyed, tossing one end of the tie to Illya and holding onto the other. A combination of Illya’s sheer strength and Napoleon’s determined hold providing leverage got Illya up and through the window. The big Soviet landed with a thud on the catwalk.

Illya held up the shredded, ruined remains of Napoleon’s tie. The American asked, rather mournfully, “Do you have _any_ idea how much that cost?”

“Probably too much. Let’s get to work, Cowboy,” Illya replied with a scowl.

*

Gaby sat in the McAllisters’ living room, a glass of wine in her hand as she cautiously eyed Timothy McAllister. He was pacing the living room with a glass of scotch, while Maggie and Andrew waited uncomfortably on the couch.

“I’m surprised you came back,” McAllister said lightly.

“As Andrew said, I wanted to…” Gaby began.

“Save it, you lying bitch,” McAllister hissed, whirling on her.

“Dad, calm down,” Andrew tried to soothe him, afraid of where the situation was rapidly heading.

“You’re a spy,” McAllister accused. “I don’t know who you are or who you work for, but it’s not a coincidence you showed up right before I make the deal of the century.”

“I don’t know what you’re – ” Gaby tried to say, flinching and letting out a cry of alarm as McAllister hurled his glass at her. It shattered on the floor, spattering Gaby with scotch and glass shards.

“Who do you work for?” McAllister demanded; he was growing red with rage.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Gaby protested. Napoleon had told her to try to get whatever she could out of McAllister…playing dumb seemed to be working. She hoped the boys hurried up, before things got serious.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Maggie screeched. Gaby had to hand it to the younger woman – she was an exceptional actress.

“Shut up, Maggie!” McAllister spat; the blonde immediately went silent. He turned on Gaby again. “ _Who do you work for?_ ”

“I don’t work for anyone!” Gaby insisted.

“The FBI? Maybe the IRA? The PLA? Who?” McAllister roared.

“No one!” Gaby let tears leak from her eyes in the hopes of calming him down; it failed miserably.

He stalked over to her, grabbed her by the hair, and snarled, “You and I are going to have a chat. And you’re going to tell me everything you know.”

When Andrew went to protest, McAllister had no qualms about pulling out his pistol and shooting his son in the knee before dragging Gaby away.

*

“Cowboy,” Illya called. 

Napoleon trotted over to see what Illya had found, and discovered that his partner had found a treasure trove of evidence.

“This is everything we need to put McAllister in jail for the rest of his life,” Napoleon commented. “Good work, Peril.”

Before them sat open case after open case of machine guns, rocket launchers, grenades, and every other conceivable weapon that could be used to sow chaos. All of the cases were marked with the same six letters: THRUSH.

Illya stepped over the guards and scientist he had shot, going to investigate files on a nearby table. He skimmed through them and said, “This mentions project you said Maggie was working on. McAllister wanted to make gas weapon more deadly than mustard gas.”

“Just what the world needs. More ways to kill people more painfully,” Napoleon replied dryly.

Illya had no response; he merely pulled out the small camera he had, took a few pictures, and shoved the camera and files into his jacket. He practically hissed, “Speaking of killing people painfully, I am going to go get Gaby back from McAllister,” and stalked away.

“ _We_ ,” Napoleon corrected, jogging to catch up. “ _We_ are going to get her back. With no painful deaths, or Waverly will have our heads.”

Illya remained functionally deaf for the entire ride to McAllister’s house, ignoring Napoleon’s repeated attempts to gain reassurance that Illya wouldn’t kill McAllister on sight.

Just like the last time Gaby was in danger, Illya forwent knocking entirely and bashed the door in with one hard blow with his shoulder. Napoleon had to run after him to keep up, silently praying that Illya wouldn’t accidentally shoot the butler or worse, Maggie or Andrew, in his anger.

Instead, he found that someone had beaten Illya to it. Andrew was collapsed on the floor in the living room, Maggie using his tie to try to stop the bleeding coming from his leg. Napoleon demanded, “What happened?”

“Dad’s gone crazy!” Maggie practically screamed. “He shot Andy!”

“Where is he?” Illya demanded.

“He said they were going to the garage,” Andrew managed. Illya left without another word; Napoleon stayed to help Maggie tend to her brother.

Even from down the hall, Illya could hear McAllister bellowing at Gaby, his voice choked and spitty with rage. The big Russian pressed himself against the doorframe, peeking around the corner – McAllister had his back to Illya as he screamed at Gaby, who looked much worse for wear.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” McAllister snarled. “Who do you work for?”

“No one!” Gaby yelled back.

“Too bad. I would have called them and ransomed you,” McAllister replied, a smirk in his voice. Illya heard the familiar sound of a pistol cocking.

That was all it took. Blood pounding, a familiar ringing in his ears and trembling in his hands, Illya leapt around the corner and smashed the butt of his gun down on McAllister’s head with all of his not-inconsiderable strength. The man fell limply to the ground like a discarded doll.

Just as fast as they came, the too-well-known signs of one of Illya’s episodes were gone. He looked at Gaby, who was staring back at him in shock, and explained, panting with anger, “I’ve wanted to pistol-whip a McAllister for a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is so long, and took so long to write - the final chapter is coming soon!


	10. Well-Earned Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finally closes the book on the McAllister mission.

Illya, Napoleon, and Maggie watched as Agent Carson and another CIA agent led a revived McAllister away in handcuffs. Nearby, they were loading Andrew into an ambulance while another EMT was treating Gaby’s injuries. 

“What’s your family going to do?” Napoleon asked Maggie.

She was quiet for a while. “Mom’s really upset. It’s going to take her a while to get used to the idea.”

“What about you and Andrew?” Illya prompted.

“I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “I was too worried about Andy to think about that. But…Andy’s studying business. Maybe we can take over running the company. Turn it around for the better.”

“It’s hard to lose a parent,” Napoleon said. “But it sounds like you and Andrew are going to make the best of it.”

“You make it sound like he’s dead,” Maggie replied dully. “He’s in jail.”

“That’s even harder,” Illya said, voice tight. He paused a moment, struggling to push aside his memories of his own father’s imprisonment. “But you and Andrew are strong. You will make it through this.”

Maggie smiled a little. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

Napoleon and Illya exchanged a glance, wondering how she could possibly know about the parallels between her situation and Illya’s, when she went on, “I know Andy said you aren’t exactly his biggest fan.”

Illya blinked, caught off-guard, while Napoleon suppressed a smile. He started to protest, but Maggie cut him off with, “You might not have said it, but he could tell.”

She regarded him curiously as his gaze drifted over to Gaby, but before she could say anything, a familiar voice cut in with, “Ah, Ms. McAllister. There you are.”

Waverly was walking over with Sanders trailing behind. “Are you doing all right, my dear? I understand today has been something of a rough day for you.”

“I’ll be okay,” Maggie nodded, putting on a brave face. “What about Andy?”

“Your brother’s gonna be fine, little miss,” Sanders rumbled. “He’s going in for surgery to patch up his knee. I’ll take you over to the hospital and we can talk about your dad and what you know while we wait for him.”

Maggie turned to Illya and Napoleon. She hugged the American first, saying, “It was fun. Keep in touch, okay?”

“Will do,” Napoleon replied. “Take care of yourself, Maggie.”

To Illya’s surprise, she hugged him too. “Thank you for helping to stop this, even if it was my dad. And…take good care of Gaby.”

Illya had no response before Maggie walked away with Sanders, smiling and waving at the two UNCLE agents.

“How is Gaby?” Illya demanded as soon as Maggie was out of sight.

“Ms. Teller is going to be perfectly fine,” Waverly waved him off. “McAllister was far from kind to her, but he did nothing severe or permanent, thank God.”

“Thank Peril,” Napoleon corrected. “McAllister would’ve killed Gaby if Illya hadn’t pistol-whipped him with a vengeance.”

“No wonder she was so insistent on seeing you,” Waverly commented.

A tiny smile turned up one corner of Illya’s mouth, but it was gone instantly as Napoleon teased, “No, I think that was for a completely different reason.”

“Well, regardless, you three never cease to amaze me with how splendidly you work together. I’m going to continue to keep you together for your next mission,” Waverly said.

“Next…mission?” Illya repeated tiredly.

“Oh, yes. Important stuff. We need to track down this THRUSH organization McAllister was about to sell to,” Waverly nodded. “We think, through the information Gaby got when McAllister was interrogating her, that they may have a base of operations in Havana. You’ll be heading there in the morning.”

“Haven’t we earned a break?” Napoleon complained.

“Well, you can take one on the flight,” Waverly scowled. “Plenty of time to nap.”

The two men glared at him. The stare-down lasted a moment before Gaby walked over to join them, rubbing at a bandage on her arm. She asked, “Why the looks, boys?”

“Waverly is sending the three of us on mission to Cuba tomorrow,” Illya grumbled.

“What?” Gaby protested. “You want us to work three missions back to back?”

The fearsome looks on all three agents’ faces, instead of scaring him, made Waverly laugh. “Good show, chaps. I was only pulling your legs. You’ll be leaving tomorrow, but your mission won’t begin until we receive some more information, likely next week. Thought I’d give you some vacation time in a place somewhat nicer than Texas.”

All three of them visibly relaxed, eliciting another laugh from Waverly. “I booked you three a hotel suite so you can move out of those miserable apartments. I’ll send someone over with your plane tickets.”

With a polite nod at them, he left. The three split up to go pick up their belongings and head to the hotel, eager to finally, fully close the book on this mission.

*

By the time the porter showed up at their suite to drop off the plane tickets, all three agents were fast asleep on the various couches and chairs, getting a head start on their well-earned rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading - I hope you enjoyed it! (:


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